


Going Home

by Batzolli



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batzolli/pseuds/Batzolli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a quick college Rizzles AU for Thanksgiving</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hope all my fellow Americans had a nice Thanksgiving, despite the shitstorm our country has been lately. Anyways here's some college Rizzles for you.

You don’t know   
You can’t possibly know everything she is thinking but as you take in her crinkled brow, and the way she runs her thumb around the lip of her steaming coffee mug you are pretty sure you want to. Because to know what is causing that crease between her elegant eyebrows, why her tongue keeps darting out to wet lips that are not dry, what notion is causing her knee to bounce slightly and not quite to the rhythm of the faint acoustic music playing in your apartment, to know this must certainly be what the dictionary defines as satisfaction. Sure, your knowledge of psychology helps you interpret her movements as those indicative of anxiety, but what is she anxious about? What could possibly be the reason behind her hand that is not occupied by the mug to run through her thick golden locks. You don’t know and all you can do is sit in the chair opposite her at your tiny wooden kitchen table and stare. Your eyes hurt with how hard you stare, blinking as little as possible so you may take in as much visual information as possible.   
It is a few minutes before she notices, her gaze was focused on her coffee but now it is on you, bright hazel meeting your aching brown and you forget for a moment why you were staring.   
“What are you doing” she asks. She sounds tired, maybe even a little irate with your laser beam eyes. You still haven’t rememebered why so you gape at her like the goldfish you won her at the carnival sophomore year. You can still remember the smell of fried food and beer and hay as you expertly knocked down those milk bottles, still remember the way her face lit up as you handed her the little plastic bag of water and fish. You remember that she named him Walter, but you still can’t remember why you were staring because you are also remembering how she kissed you on the cheek that night when you walked her back to her dorm and how you had spent the rest of the night blushing every time one of your roommates mentioned her name.   
She says your name, and when you jerk your head up and refocus on her she repeats her question and you finally remember.   
“I want to know what you’re thinking about” you say simply, voice without inflection, except perhaps a hint of apprehension, but you don’t think she noticed, please god you hope she didn’t notice. The crease in her forehead deepens, and she takes a bracing sip of coffee before she answers you.   
“I want to tell my parents. Over Thanksgiving break.” She doesn’t need to elaborate on what she wants to tell them. There is only one thing she could tell them that would be serious enough to warrant such anxiety, you can hear it in the way her voice shakes as she continues “I can’t keep lying to them. They think I’m coming home with pictures and stories of my latest boyfriend but I have nothing to show them. I have to stop lying. “  
You let the words sink in, really absorb them and analyze them before you speak.   
“…are you going to tell them about me?” you are nervous about her response, you know this because your left hand immediately goes to your mouth where your teeth get to work reducing your nails to nubs. She takes a deep breath, and with the early morning light casting light shadows across her face, you think she has never looked more tragically beautiful; the picture of elegant distress, if such a thing really existed.   
“If you are ok with that, I would like to. So they know I haven’t been completely lying about my relationship status, just about the gender of the person I’ve been seeing.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile, and your heart skips a beat. She has had this effect on you since the day you met at freshman orientation. You feel an overwhelming sense of protectiveness wash over you as you imagine her telling her parents that the daughter they have groomed for success since the day they adopted her, the daughter they dreamed of carrying on their legacy, telling them that she had been lying to them, and the boyfriend she had been writing and calling home about was, in fact, not a boy, but a girl. And not any girl, a blue collar Bostonian, who was attending her prestigious university on a sports scholarship. You imagine their shock, and ultimate disappointment as she tells them that in addition to her newly discovered orientation, she has switched her major from pre-law to pre-med, with intentions to go into forensic pathology, a field you fear they won’t approve of. They will think it odd, their daughter wanting to spend her time with dead people instead of setting up to take over her father’s law practice. But you know better than to think you can protect Maura from all this, and so you nod, grasping her hand in yours as you look her in the eye.   
“You know I love and support you no matter what babe.” You say, voice low. You brush your lips over her knuckles, and she blushes slightly at the contact, opening her hand to cup your cheek. It feels soft and warm and like home. “Everything is going to be ok” you murmur against her palm turning your face towards it so your lips may press against the smooth skin. You feel, more than see, her relax, the tension leaving her body as she breathes out, and she runs her hand over your mane of curls before she returns it to her mug, lifting it to her mouth to drain the last remnants of the heavenly liquid. You watch her lick her lips, a single drop of brown sits at the corner of her mouth and you can’t help yourself. You lean over the small table between you and expertly lick the spot, eliciting a gasp from your girlfriend.   
“Jane!” she laughs, swatting playfully at your arm. You smile at her, still leaning over the table, and with your free hand that is not busy supporting your weight you cup the back of her head, bringing her towards you for a proper kiss. She tastes of coffee and sunshine and oatmeal and you can think of no better taste to grace your tongue.   
And in that moment you do know everything. You know everything and you are invincible and it’s all going to be ok.

**Author's Note:**

> Keeping this a oneshot for now but if you've been following me for awhile you know how unpredictable my muse can be so who knows. Let me know what you thought?


End file.
